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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903867">Not in That Way</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreczka/pseuds/coreczka'>coreczka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Other relationships - Freeform, Parallel to Normal People - Sally Rooney, Post-Hogwarts, Secret Relationship, Slow Build, Tension, University, Yearning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:06:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,930</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreczka/pseuds/coreczka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Hermione become entangled with one another, to a point where they can't believe they could survive without the other. Their bond is rooted deep within them, but they can't seem to hold onto it. They pull away and then crash into each other, over and over again.</p><p>A parallel to Sally Rooney's "Normal People" that follows Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger into their Eighth year at Hogwarts and the years following as they try to make sense of their feelings for each other and the role they play in each other's lives.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not in That Way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>January 1999</p><p> </p><p>The door groaned as he pushed it open, as if this small, common action inflicted pain on the inanimate object. There were still some parts of the castle that showed wear that wasn’t entirely natural. Wear that felt violent. Even eight months later.</p><p>Draco’s bag was heavy on his shoulder, triggering an ache in his neck that made him feel nauseous if he turned his head too fast—a punishment from his body for his neglect in many areas of self-care. The lights in the library were dimmed, a subtle signal that curfew was approaching. He had about an hour.</p><p>He spotted a student here and there—tucked into alcoves, seated in front of shelves, or walking from aisle to aisle in search of this or that text. Mostly, he kept his head down, careful to keep his tread light, moving almost soundlessly to avoid any unwanted attention.</p><p>He had walked this path to his favorite table hundreds of times in the past months. Finally, a left here, a right there, a slight shimmy past this cart full of books that never moved, one last right, and he was there. The window glowed with moonlight, the slightest illumination on his hidden table.</p><p>Dropping the bag to the floor, he sank into the chair with a sigh. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. His nightly escape to the library was the only moment in the day that he scheduled for himself to relax, the only moment away from the scrutiny of his peers. The cautious and suspicious gazes from other students, whether they be Gryffindors or his fellow Slytherins, sometimes seemed unmanageable. Sometimes he found it hard to breathe. </p><p>Leaning over, indulging in a little stretch of his neck, he fished his book out of his bag, excited for this nightly hour of light reading. He was about halfway through his book, a muggle book, about the fall of the Iron Curtain and the young democracies in Eastern Europe. Communism, what an idea. It seemed so far away—the Cold War, nuclear fallout, muggle politics.</p><p>Draco had plans, a scheme for the future. Though it was an enjoyable subject, he thought it necessary to study. This was how he had spent his evenings, almost every day, for the past five months. December had been particularly productive as he had stayed at Hogwarts for the winter break, declining his mother’s invitation to spend the holidays at the Manor. </p><p>Every few days he would trudge down to Hogsmeade and floo to Diagon Alley, where he would venture out into muggle London in search of the local library. His library card was, in his opinion, his strangest possession, always hidden securely in the inside pocked of his shoulder bag. He would check out ten books each trip, all on different subjects, but he came to enjoy the books on muggle politics and history most. They played out like fantastical epics, with twists and dramatics he could never have imagined.</p><p>By the end of the break, he had read about 70 books. With not much else to do, he simply sat in different areas around the castle with a snack or two and read until he had to squint to see the letters, only taking breaks for meals.</p><p>Then it was January. He spent the new year alone with a book, content in his solitude. </p><p>He found his bookmarked page and picked up where he left off: the Solidarity movement in Poland and Lech Wałęsa.</p><p>His hour ticked by and, checking his watch, he found he had just fifteen minutes left until curfew started and his presence outside of his house became illicit. He was extra careful with these little rules, given that an entire government was eagerly awaiting some little slip or mistake of his as reason to throw him in Azkaban with his sorry father. </p><p>He leaned over to stuff the book, hardcover, but bound in that plastic that libraries liked, back into his bag, but stopped, spotting a book by his left foot that had gone unnoticed earlier. This book was clearly not the property of any library. Its soft cover was worn and bent, its pages brown with age. He grabbed for it, twisting to reach it, almost sneezing from the dust that lifted off the ground at his disruption. </p><p>Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. A muggle book, then. The title made his stomach twist a little, and he was almost afraid to open it. What kind of prejudices was this book about? How distasteful was the pride? He flipped it over, scanning the summary on the back. </p><p>Oh. A romance. </p><p>He hadn’t read any of those. </p><p>He blushed and opened the worn book to the first page. Whoever it belonged to had read it over and over again. Must be good then.</p><p>“I’m afraid that belongs to me, actually”</p><p>He started at the sound. He hadn’t heard anyone approach his hidden table. His eyes met Hermione Granger’s.</p><p>“The table?” He tried not to make a face. What a stupid thing to say.</p><p>“No,” she laughed, and he could hear the discomfort in her voice, “the book. Pride and Prejudice. In your hands.”</p><p>“Ah. Makes more sense,” he slid it across the table for her.</p><p>“What are you up to then, Malfoy?” She hadn’t left. He tried to distinguish some kind of suspicion in her voice, but found none. Just a polite, albeit forced, query. A side effect of his quiet apology one morning in September outside the Great Hall and the following seated conversation on a bench nearby as both of their knees felt weak with the images of the past years flooding to the forefront of their memories. The conversation that ended with a delicate touch to his forearm and reassurances of forgiveness that made his face flush.</p><p>Now he and Granger occasionally engaged in these polite conversations where hardly any meaningful things were actually said. They were something he often looked forward to, though. Sometimes in Potions, partnered up, they would just talk, not about anything in particular, and she would relax and open up a little, and no one would overhear, and they would just be in their own little world. But their conversations were rarely personal. That was their unspoken rule.</p><p>It was comforting to him, her willingness to even speak to him. Potter and Weasley certainly didn’t acknowledge him. </p><p>“Just some last-minute studying before our exam in Charms tomorrow,” he flipped the top of his bag shut, in case she should discover that his Charms book was actually missing from the bag.</p><p>“That worried about it?” she shifted her weight to the other foot.</p><p>“Not exactly my best subject. Last exam, Flitwick gave me a Poor. Dreadful man is doing it to spite me, I think. I know I studied more than enough for that unit. This time I won’t take any chances,” Draco stayed seated, leaning back to look up at Hermione.</p><p>“Hm,” she paused, and he was nervous about what she would say next, “I think I remember seeing an E on your exam actually.”<br/>
“A bit nosy, are we?”</p><p>Her eyes widened, afraid she’d offended, but her expression softened again when she saw his smile.</p><p>“I have to keep track of my competition, you see. And I just happened to be looking in that direction, so it was just a coincidence, really, that I spotted the grade of the, well, second-best student in class.”</p><p>His smile widened. This was the first time he and Hermione Granger were having a conversation that even bordered on playful.</p><p>“Second Best!” he exclaimed, doing his best to feign outrage.</p><p>“I know for a fact I have the top mark, making me best. That leaves you for second best, or maybe even third, as I really do not make a habit of peeking at your exam grades.”</p><p>“Well then, maybe you should give me grinds, Granger,” he drawled, peeking at her reaction in their reflection in the window.</p><p>“Are you suddenly Irish now, then?” In the window, he saw her eyebrows rise and she shifted in her spot.</p><p>“I’ve picked it up from Seamus, I suppose.” He turned to look at her now. There was something her shadow in the window hadn’t shown, but her flesh now betrayed: a faint blush colored her cheeks.</p><p>She knew it was just slang, just his mischievous attempt at humor. She’d heard that phrase come out of Seamus’s mouth a few times anyways. It was a bit ridiculous, though, that suddenly aristocratic, pompous Draco Malfoy was indulging in Irish slang.</p><p>“Because you’re such close mates, you and Seamus?”</p><p>“Why yes, sometimes he even trips me in the halls, jokester that he is.” he glanced down at his watch as he spoke. “I’m afraid I must be going. Curfew is in five minutes and you know what they’ll do to me if they catch me breaking rules.” She watched him draw his thumb across his neck in mock execution.</p><p>“They actually don’t execute people that way anymore, in Wizarding or Muggle Britain,” she tried not to grimace. What a stupid thing to say. She always wanted to say things that impressed Draco Malfoy. There was really no point to it. She was sure he didn’t really care, and why should she go out of her way to always try to say something clever or profound? To show him how smart she was, that she, a muggleborn, could be better than him, a pureblood. Yes, that was the reason.</p><p>“Not reassuring, Granger,” he signed, picking up his bag and pushing himself out of his chair.</p><p>“I’m a prefect, you know.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Well yes, I know.”</p><p>“So we’re all in agreement that we all know.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes.</p><p>“What I’m trying to say is I’m a prefect—”</p><p>“We’ve established that, I think.”</p><p>“—So I can be out past curfew—”</p><p>“That’s fantastic, but I can’t so—”</p><p>“So, I can escort you back to Slytherin so you can avoid this fatal run-in with the authorities you’re so worried about.”</p><p>“Oh.” She saw his cheeks and the tip of his ears go pink, like they did the last time they talked this long at one time. She looked away, suddenly nervous about her proposition.</p><p>“That’d be really nice, Granger, thank you. I owe you,” he said, trying to meet her eyes as he slung his bag over his shoulder.</p><p>“Don’t be silly,” she said softly.</p><p>They walked towards the exit mostly in silence, giving her an opportunity to consider him. She’d heard stories about him this year. How different he was. She’d heard he stayed at Hogwarts for the winter holidays. She’d heard people say they see him everywhere with his nose in a book, and she had to admit that part of her bristled at the idea of someone else being the person known as the bookworm. She’d heard from younger Slytherins that he’s hardly seen in the Slytherin common room. </p><p>Everyone talked about Draco Malfoy, and no one particularly liked him, not even in his own house. She felt bad for him sometimes, that he was so alone in the world. She wouldn’t admit it around Harry and Ron, but she knew Malfoy had suffered as much as they had. </p><p>She watched his shoes next to hers, their steps uneven but steady together. Once, she saw him coming up from the quidditch pitch, his shirt thrown over his shoulder, broom in one hand, water bottle in the other. She’d stood frozen in front of that window in the first-floor corridor, eyes glued to his figure, fit and tanned from what seemed like routine flying some afternoons. She wished she could have seen him flying, muscles tensing with each turn or ascent. He hadn’t come out for the quidditch team this year, though, so she never could. And even then, he’d be fully clothed.</p><p>She blushed recalling that day, and looked up to glance at Malfoy as he walked beside her. If Ron and Harry knew how friendly they were, how often she really stopped to chat with Malfoy, they would hate her for it, would demand she never speak to him again. Especially Ron.</p><p>“Is it your favorite then? Pride and Prejudice?” His sudden question startled her. They were halfway to the Slytherin dungeons.</p><p>“Oh! One of my favorites, I think. Maybe top five. Well, no, maybe it is my all-time favorite,” she could see the corners of his mouth turn up as she rambled, and she felt her face get hot. He could use their polite friendship to ruin her reputation. He could pretend they were close, and she knew people would call her names, say vicious things about her. She felt her stomach drop a little.</p><p>“Would you let me borrow it sometime then? I haven’t read much fiction.” The question was casual, but she felt his vulnerability in asking it.</p><p>“Sure, why not. This is already the second time I’m reading it this year,” she handed him the book, “you know, there’s a muggle television mini-series they did with a really good actor a few years ago, you should watch it after you read the book.”</p><p>“Television? Mini-series?”</p><p>She turned and saw the blank look in his eyes.</p><p>“Ah, well we can figure that out later.”</p><p>“So it’s a romance right? Sappy? All yearning and no…profoundness…right?” She was looking down at their feet again and didn’t notice his smile as he said this.</p><p>“Sappy?” she cried. She kept her eyes down on the ground.</p><p>“Yes, sappy. Like all romances. Like the guy and the girl, I’m guessing, hate each other and then they eventually overcome their pride and their prejudices and fall in love and live happily ever after. Right?”</p><p>Hermione was enraged. He knew this was her favorite book! And now, to insult it!</p><p>“There’s so much more to it! And I’ll have you know it is quite profound!” </p><p>“But I’m right on the basics, aren’t I?”</p><p>“Well, I mean—”</p><p>“Just unending yearning.”</p><p>Hermione gave a soft shriek, a small cry of rage that was appropriate for the time of day and topic. She stopped walking and spun to face him, about to snatch her book out of his hands.</p><p>“Granger, I’m sorry, I was just teasing. I don’t want to fight with you.”</p><p>She noticed his expression, his smile, raised eyebrows. His look started to become concerned. Of course he was joking.</p><p>“We’re not fighting,” she said with an apologetic smile. Or, at least, one she hoped would convey an apology without her actually having to verbally apologize for being oblivious to humor.</p><p>“I know you probably hate me, but you’re one of the only people who actually talks to me here.” He looked down.</p><p>“I never said I hated you,” she said.</p><p>He looked up, eyebrows furrowed, but she intentionally kept her eyes on the wall behind him. She thought of all of the conversations they had. They were polite, yes, sometimes meaningless, but always sincere on her part. In the library, outside the great hall, paired up in classrooms. His easy tone and thoughtful listening made her feel like she existed in some different plane for a few minutes, like they were just two normal people with no history. </p><p>She wasn’t scared of their friendship, of him. Not exactly. More like she was frightened of how she felt around him now, how she sometimes acted around him. How she wanted to tell him things she wouldn’t even tell Harry, Ron, or even Ginny. A bit ridiculous considering she didn’t even know if they were friends or acquaintances, maybe just colleagues?</p><p>As she continued considering all these things, she didn’t notice Malfoy shift the bag digging into his shoulder, or crack his neck with a slight bend, or bite his lip and start to say something.<br/>
“Well, I like you,” he almost whispered.</p><p>She noticed that they were just around the corner from the entrance to the Slytherin common room. She didn’t say anything for a few moments, just felt her face grow redder. She finally looked into his eyes. They stood there for a minute or two, both frozen in place, neither wanting to break the silence they seemed to agree to.</p><p>Finally, Hermione let out a breath and looked at her shoes, noticing a scuff that she swore hadn’t been there five minutes ago. She looked up again, afraid to meet his eyes, but she found that his expression was calm and pleased, like he just needed to say those words to her but didn’t expect any sort of answer,</p><p>At least that was what she convinced herself before she whispered a hurried goodbye and turned and almost ran towards the direction of the Gryffindor tower without another glance at him. </p><p>As soon as she knew she was out of his sight, she broke into a ran and didn’t stop until she made it past the portrait and into the common room. Some students were lounging by the fire, animatedly discussing some topic. She tried not to hurry past them up to the girls’ dormitories.</p><p>“You okay, Hermione?” She froze as Ron piped up from an armchair, “You look redder than a Weasley.”</p><p>The group laughed.</p><p>“Just forgot something from the library and was hurrying back,” she replied, more breathlessly than she would have liked, but it seemed like the group had turned their interest back to their previous conversation already, and she turned to continue her walk back to her room, where she found she couldn’t sleep all night.</p>
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